


Build Me Up

by biamond



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton's Farm, Deaf Clint Barton, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Laura is clint's sister, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Steve is an Asshole, because chickens are cute, but he doesn't like being touched, but it gets better, but they're working on it, farm animals, no civil war, so are cows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biamond/pseuds/biamond
Summary: Steve clicked his tongue in annoyance. "And what do you want us to do, huh? Drop Bucky off at some complete stranger's house and leave him alone? Is that what you're trying to tell me?""No, of course not." Clint frowned. "Did I mention that anywhere? I just said that you're not going to go with him.""And who do you think is going to do that?""Me."~Clint takes Bucky to his farm so he can recover from the trauma of being the Winter Soldier. However, the fact that they catch feelings for each other in the process was definitely not part of this plan.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little afraid to post this because I feel like I've completely messed up the translation. I'll do it anyways, so please let me know if you notice any big mistakes... English is not my first language and I want to improve! If this is complete crap, tell me that too -- I don't want to embarass myself xD  
> This story is one of my favorites, but I personally think the later chapters are much better. If the first chapter doesn't quite convince you yet, I would maybe wait for the next ones... of course only if you want to.  
> I haven't read the comics (too many pictures for me lol), but a lot of fanfiction instead, which is why this is a huge mix of comic and movie canon, along with some ideas of my own. For example, Laura is Clint's sister because I needed her and the kids, but absolutely didn't feel like writing a breakup. I made the farm the way I needed it, so don't be surprised if anything doesn't fit your imagination. 
> 
> Have fun with my two favorite idiots!

Bucky had to get out of here. Out of the headquarters, away from the Avengers, away from the questions, the chaos and the countless impressions of a new age that were crashing down on him every second. He needed time for himself to come to terms with the whole situation and to recover. To maybe eventually become a bit of the Bucky he used to be. He needed to get out of here.

Bucky knew he did. He had already known it when he had been brought to headquarters two weeks ago and had been overwhelmed with questions and concerns from the very first second. The realization that staying in this place wasn't doing him any good at all at the moment was therefore absolutely nothing new for him.

But to have the sentence "You have to get out of here" thrown in his face without warning, and that from his best friend, was a completely different matter. However, to find himself surrounded by his best friend's friends while they were loudly arguing about how the "Bucky has to get out of here" project could best be implemented was definitely the top of the whole thing. And a rather unpleasant top.

"Steve...," Romanoff started, visibly trying to calm down a bit. "Let me make two calls and then I'll have a safehouse for him! There's always a free place somewhere."

Her face was almost completely expressionless. The only tiny sign of anger Bucky could detect was a pounding vein at her temple. An ordinary person who didn't have sharpened super-soldier senses would never recognize that small detail. At least not if he was standing ten feet away from Romanoff, as Bucky was. And Bucky had enormous respect for that. He knew a lot of people who were good at hiding their emotions, but no one could compete with this redhead of a SHIELD agent. That she was pretty hard to figure out, Bucky had noticed from the first moment.

He stopped thinking about Romanoff's spying skills and returned all his attention to what was happening in the common room. Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest and took a step closer to Romanoff. However, in the same motion, he slid to the side, barely noticeable, so that he was half in front of Bucky. It was probably meant to have something protective about it, but actually only led to Bucky's view of Stark and Vision, who were standing to Romanoff's left, being blocked. He could have easily taken a step to the side, but he didn't want to steal Steve's moment. Even though he was rather annoyed by Steve's obsessive protective instinct, Bucky appreciated it. It was only meant well. Steve just wanted to do everything in his power to help his best friend. That he wouldn't be able to do it that way, Bucky didn't have the heart to tell him.

"Those two calls - who would they be to?" asked Steve, also trying to keep his anger in check. He managed not to snap, but he would never be able to hide his emotions. He just wasn't made for that.

Romanoff shrugged, but not in a gesture of ignorance. More of a 'You know the answer anyway-shrug'. Still, she replied, "SHIELD. If you want it all backed up from the top, I'll be happy to call Fury himself."

Steve shook his head in disbelief. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't want SHIELD to know about Bucky's return. Not after the Hydra thing and all."

"Fine, just try to find a safe place some other way," Romanoff hissed, now obviously pissed after all. The people around them joined in the argument, and soon there was a babble of voices, with no one out of it except Banner and Bucky himself.

Bucky simply remained standing, half hidden behind Steve, hoping that the discussion about his future whereabouts would soon be over. Or at least proceeded in a civilized manner and produced useful suggestions. But nothing changed, at least not for the better. The volume in the living room continued to swell and Bucky noticed it was getting to be too much for him as a new voice rang out, silencing the others.

"I know a safehouse."

Clint Barton entered the common room with a huge mug of coffee in his hand. Bucky hadn't even noticed that he hadn't been there the whole time. However, the exact number of Avengers in the room hadn't been the biggest problem either.

Steve snorted in annoyance, put both hands on the back of his neck and locked his fingers together. "Clint I just told you. I don't want anything to do with SHIELD on this!"

Barton took a big sip from his cup, but didn't break eye contact with Steve for a single second. "Did I say in any word that it was a SHIELD safe house?" he asked as he swallowed.

Romanoff suddenly seemed to know exactly what Barton was talking about and gave him an incredulous look. " _This_ safehouse? What about Laura?"

Barton shrugged half-heartedly. "She's also happy to stay in town with the kids for a while without feeling bad about Dave having to do everything."

Bucky frowned. He had no idea who Laura or Dave was, nor what kind of safehouse was being talked about. However, it seemed to be the best option so far. But as he was used to doing since he got back, Bucky let Steve do the talking. "Is it safe?"

Barton and Romanoff nodded in agreement. Bucky knew the two were close friends, probably more, so it didn't surprise him that she knew immediately what the other was talking about.

"It's very safe," Romanoff began. "The location is optimal for getting off the screen for a while, and the security is perfectly set up."

"And before you find it out yourself later and curse half the world, Cap...," Barton added. "Yes, the arrangements were made by SHIELD, but no one there has any connection to that house anymore. It's entirely _my_ safe house."

Bucky's frown deepened. _Barton's_ safe house? How should he understand that? He tried to think about it for a few seconds, but then decided that it was the best suggestion in this discussion and therefore he couldn't care less who owned this house and in what way. Besides, it also seemed to be exactly what Steve had wanted, so it was basically perfect.

"Thank you Clint." said Steve honestly, any anger gone from his voice, only a tiny trace of skepticism remaining. "That means a lot to me. Tell me how I can repay you..."

"You don't owe me anything," Barton interrupted him seriously. "Something like that goes without saying."

Bucky definitely didn't think that offering shelter to an almost complete stranger, who was also a mentally unstable ex-killer, was a natural thing to do. Without anything in return. But if Barton was willing to do that, Bucky would not try to talk him out of it. He needed that time out, and unless some wizard suddenly danced around the corner and pulled another safehouse out of a hat, Barton's option would remain the best.

"If that's the case..." said Steve, straightening his shoulders. Bucky could literally feel how much it bothered him that Barton didn't want anything in return. "...I really thank you from the bottom of my heart Clint. You just give me all the information on the house then, Buck and I will pack our things and head over there. I'll stay there with him of course, we can't leave him alone after all."

On the outside, Bucky tried to remain as calm as possible, but inside he was raging. The idea of being locked in a house for months with no one but Steve brought out despair in him, which made its way up from his stomach and choked his throat, making him feel like he couldn't breathe. And Bucky was ashamed of it.

After all, Steve was his best friend. Stevie, with whom he had spent his life and with whom he had gotten through everything, really everything. Bucky loved Steve. He loved him with every inch in his body; after all, he was the only thing he had left. The only proof that the memories of that life so many years ago were not hallucinations. And Bucky never wanted to lose Steve, always wanted him in his life, when he was the only thing that gave it at least a little sense.

But Bucky didn't want to go to that safehouse with Steve.

That would just miss the point of the whole idea and make it even harder for him. Because the problem was: Steve wanted to help Bucky. And he would do anything to make his condition better. Yes, Stevie would do anything, Bucky was sure of that. Anything but what he really needed. And that was to be someone who understood him. Who knew when he needed company and when he didn't, who knew when he needed conversation and when he needed silence.

Steve didn't know that and he would never understand. Bucky had tried once, maybe twice, to let Steve in on his condition and explain to him why he wanted to be alone at that moment and needed company but silence in the other. Steve hadn't been able to comprehend it and had stayed with him, overwhelming him with questions about his condition and voicing his concerns and just thoroughly portraying the concerned friend that Bucky needed least of all. If Steve came along, it would go on day in and day out. For months. Bucky doubted that would improve anything about his condition. But he knew he had no choice. So he replayed Steve's words over and over in his head, trying to get them in there and come to terms with it.

_I'll stay there with him, of course, we can't leave him alone, after all. I'll stay there with him, of course, we..._

"No." All eyes in the room moved to Barton again, this time even more startled than when he first said something.

Bucky knew how damn serious his situation was, and yet he couldn't stop the small spark of amusement that stirred inside him when he saw Steve's expression. He looked shocked, disbelieving, and completely overwhelmed by the situation. It obviously happened not too often that someone disagreed with the captain, especially when it was about something as personal as his best friend.

Speaking of _personal_ and _best friend_... where did Barton even get off disagreeing with Steve on this? He really shouldn't have cared at all! He had provided "his" safe house, that was enough done, wasn't it?

"Excuse me?" asked Steve, who seemed to have finally regained his speech.

"No." replied Barton, with the same naturalness as before.

"What do you mean, no?"

"You're not going with him."

Bucky frowned, as did Steve and probably the others in the room.

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Barton," Steve forced out between his teeth, and the very fact that he called the other by his last name showed that he was deadly serious.

"You're not going to help him," said Barton, who seemed to be calm and took another sip from his mug. With that, he said exactly what had been on Bucky's mind all along. He was glad that at least someone seemed to understand that Steve was not the best company.

Steve clicked his tongue in annoyance. "And what do you want us to do, huh? Drop Bucky off at some complete stranger's house and leave him alone? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"No, of course not." Barton frowned in confusion. "Did I mention that anywhere, Rogers?" he asked, using Steve's last name tactic against him. "I just said _you_ won't go with him."

"And who do you think is going to do that?"

"Me."

For one more (and hopefully last) time, Barton attracted the full attention of the others. Steve snorted in disbelieving amusement, while Bucky was stunned. Why the hell would Barton want to come along? It made absolutely no sense at all. They'd only known each other for two weeks and had hardly had anything to do with each other in that time. The only thing Bucky knew about the other was that he was supposedly the best archer in the world, was absolutely screwed without hearing aids, and suffered from an extreme caffeine addiction. He had gotten along with Barton without any problems so far. The other was always polite and had the decency to keep his distance. Bucky didn't understand why Barton was making this offer, but on second thought, he immediately realized that he couldn't turn it down. No matter what the reason had been. Barton seemed to have at least begun to understand that Bucky could use anything but constant questioning about his condition, and the idea of being locked up somewhere with him for months was worlds better than the thought of doing it with Steve. It was perfectly okay.

"Why would you, of all people, do this?" asked Steve.

Barton shrugged. "As I said, it's my safe house. I'd rather have someone there who knows a little bit about it."

Now Romanoff walked up to her friend and stood with her back to Steve, who had become quite close to Barton during the conversation.

"Are you sure, Clint?" she asked quietly, but still not quiet enough to keep her words from Bucky's ears. Barton nodded without any doubt in his motion. "Steve's right, someone has to go. And honestly, I could use some time off too. Besides, it'll give me a chance to finally work on all the stuff I've been meaning to do for what feels like a hundred years." He gave her a smile, and the redhead smiled back. Then she turned and said aloud to the others, "Okay, I'm all for it." 

The rest murmured in agreement or shrugged indifferently. Only Steve seemed to remain completely against Clint's suggestion. "Bucky doesn't know you at all, Clint, and I've been his best friend for a goddamn century, so I think I have the right to..."

"Stop!" interrupted Barton once again, this time with unmistakable anger in his voice. He had the emotion under control a lot better than Steve did, though. "This has been pissing me off the whole time," he continued. "Before you give any long argumentative lectures here, Cap, maybe we should first ask for the opinion of the person who is most affected by this whole thing. And that's Bucky. We could stop pretending he's not here for ten minutes."

The pairs of eyes that had previously fixed on Barton moved to Bucky. He didn't know if he liked that. Having the Avengers' complete attention on him was one thing, but having the power of decision over something was much more complicated. Bucky looked into those expectant faces, all just waiting for his answer.

His gaze darted to Banner and Maximoff, who smiled at him encouragingly, in just the way Bucky hated the most. The others just seemed tense.

Then he turned to Steve. There was something in his puppy dog eyes that almost made Bucky cry out loud that he wanted Steve there. But when his face also put on that half-pitying - half-encouraging smile, he realized again how life would be with Steve in the safehouse.

The last thing he looked at was Barton, who wasn't even looking back at him. He was far too busy with his coffee. He also seemed pretty sure that he had won. And after a few more seconds of thought, Bucky knew the other was right to feel that certainty.

"I think Barton's idea is the better option," he said, exhaling a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

He saw Barton nod at him briefly before Steve took in his entire field of vision, having built himself up, tall as he was, right in front of Bucky's face. And then the waterfall of questions began to crash down on him: why he had made the decision he had, whether he was really sure, and another bunch like that, which Bucky managed to ignore. He had made his decision.

He would move into the safehouse with Clint Barton.

*

At noon three days later, Bucky found himself in a small Quinjet flying directly to the safehouse. Barton had told him the day before that they were heading to Iowa, to the small town Waverly. They had already been flying for an hour and a half, so Bucky figured it would be about three more hours before they arrived. It didn't bother him too much. He enjoyed the view and actually felt quite relaxed, considering that from now on he would be living in a completely foreign area with an almost complete stranger.

However, it didn't seem like life with this man was going to get too complicated. Barton, like Bucky, sat in the cockpit of the jet. He lay sideways in the pilot's seat, legs casually swung over the armrest, and let the autopilot do its thing. At times he stared out the windshield for a while, then tapped something on his phone. He hadn't said a word yet, and Bucky was thankful for that. He wasn't in much of a talking mood right now. Not that he was in a bad mood, he was just enjoying the silence.

It was one of those beautiful moments when his mind was completely blank. No people telling him what to do, no voice trying to tell him he was a monster, and most of all, no sudden flashes of memory telling him what he had done. He loved those moments. And when he was lucky enough to experience one, he liked to keep the silence and emptiness in his mind. When someone talked to him, it didn't work. Steve had never been able to comprehend it.

Barton seemed to have understood, although they had never said a word about it, that Bucky wanted and needed silence right now. Or maybe he just didn't want to talk. Anyway. Bucky was fine with it.

*

Bucky had been staring happily out the window until he was brought out of his trance by a soft female voice. He had completely forgotten that Romanoff was also on board to fly the jet back to New York later. She had been sleeping in the back of the plane until now and was about to wake Barton to tell him of their upcoming arrival.

Bucky hadn't even noticed that the man next to him had fallen asleep.

Now he slowly woke up, shaking his head in confusion until he seemed to realize where he was and why. He gave Romanoff a nod, yawned deeply, and looked out the window as he had before his nap while the jet flew slowly toward the ground.

Now that his new location was so close and he could no longer look at the cloud cover below him, Bucky's relaxed phase was also over. His head filled with guilt and shame, and the memories that had already returned played on continuous loop in his brain.

Bucky was used to it. Since Hydra's control had faded, he actually felt this way permanently. The peaceful episodes, like the one he just had earlier, were pretty rare. He tried to direct his thoughts to something else. A childhood memory, a song, anything that distracted him. It worked reasonably well, as it always did.

But then Barton suddenly broke the silence, really taking Bucky's mind off things. "Well, here we are," he said. The jet was on solid ground, which Bucky didn't notice until that moment. There was nothing but a field and a forest in front of the windshield. Either the house was invisible, underground, or was on the other side of the jet. He was pretty sure the last thing was the case.

Barton got out of his seat and walked with Romanoff to the exit of the jet. Bucky followed them and, as he walked, slung the small travel bag with the few things he owned over his shoulder. Most of the clothes had simply been handed to him when he arrived at headquarters. Some of the stuff Steve had given him. Steve, who was probably still pissed off now, walked through the common area, as he had done consistently since Bucky's decision. But it hadn't been able to get Bucky to change his mind.

The two agents had already left the jet, so he hurried a bit. He wandered down the ramp at the back, daring to look at his new home for the first time. He didn't know what he was expecting. Not this, anyway.

He had perhaps expected to find a small house, run down and with at most a tiny garden. But here he was, standing at the edge of a huge field, staring at a farmhouse. A really nice farmhouse. A bit aged, but with a little effort, could be made to look like new. There was a crazy big porch with a Hollywood swing and everything. Next to the house was a barn and Bucky even thought he could hear chickens clucking somewhere.

He looked over at Barton and Romanoff, who were walking toward an older man who was coming out of the farmhouse.

"Clint, Nat, hey, good to see you." He hugged them both at the same time and then beamed at them even brighter. "So you guys are replacing me for a while now, huh? I like that."

Romanoff gave him a broad smile. "I'm not staying. But someone else is, and who knows, maybe Clint will get him to help out a little." She gestured over her shoulder to Bucky, who had stopped a few feet away.

The old man smiled at him as kindly as the other two, at which Bucky raised his right hand in greeting. "This is Bucky," Barton introduced him. "A guy I know who just needed to get out for a bit. Just like me."

The man nodded in understanding. Barton turned to Bucky and pointed to the man. "That's Dave. He takes care of the farm when no one's here." Bucky nodded to signal that he understood.

He was glad that Barton had covered up the reason for coming here a bit. Bucky was uncomfortable talking about the Winter Soldier story with strangers. After all, he didn't even talk about it with friends.

"Fine." said Barton, clapping his hands together once. "Let's carry all the stuff to the porch first, then I'd say you guys get the hell out of here, okay?"

Dave and Romanoff nodded.

*

It didn't take long for all the suitcases and bags to be transported from the jet to the veranda. Most of the bags had some sort of refrigeration mechanism that made it possible to carry quite a bit of food. While Bucky was sure they would either be supplied or could drive to a nearby town to get new supplies if the old ones ran out, it still made him feel better that they had more than enough for now.

Barton had said a big goodbye to Dave and Romanoff, who had then disappeared in the jet and an old jeep. And from then on, Bucky was alone with Barton. And images, emotions and impressions filled his head almost immediately. It was quiet out here. Too quiet for the moment. Most of the time it was good when there weren't too many sounds, but not even a single bird was chirping right now and that freaked Bucky out.

Thank God, Clint started talking behind him.

"It's probably going to rain in a few minutes. It's roofed over here, but I'm gonna go inside. The food needs to go in the fridge." He grabbed two bags and pushed open the porch door, but glanced back over his shoulder. "Are you coming?" he asked carefully. "You can check out the bedrooms."

Bucky nodded, grabbed two bags as well, and followed Barton inside the house. Secretly, he hoped the other would keep talking. It distracted Bucky from the unpleasant images in his mind. He stopped in the hallway and took a quick look around. At the end was a door that most likely led to one of the bedrooms, next to it was a staircase going up. To the left was probably a guest bathroom and to the right was what was probably the largest room in the house. It combined kitchen, living and dining room, but still didn't look cluttered. A little thrown together, perhaps, but in a good way.

"This house used to belong to my parents," Barton began as he put the important things like milk, cheese and eggs into the large fridge in the kitchen. Bucky carried his bags there as well and began sorting through the groceries as Barton did. He guessed that there were freezers in the basement or another room where the things that were not needed on a daily basis went.

Barton continued, "I grew up here. At least until I was nine. Then my parents died and me and Laura, my sister, went into foster home. But the farm was passed down to us. When I came of age, I didn't know what to do with it, so I waited until Laura was grown up, too, and let her move in here. It was just a normal house without any security. Laura lived here with her boyfriend while I was recruited for SHIELD. When her boyfriend died, I immediately moved in with her. You have to know, she already had a child and was pregnant again. I had the house made into a safe house, with all the security, but with the difference that it was still in my name and I didn't let Shield have any rights to the farm. It remained _my_ farm, made safe only to protect my family and me."

Barton finished and went back to the porch to get two new bags.

Bucky exhaled audibly. The whole thing was going better than expected. Either it was pure coincidence or Barton had a sixth sense - in any case, he had started babbling at just the right moment. That was what Bucky needed that Steve had never given him. The opportunity to just listen. And to a topic that had absolutely nothing to do with Hydra or the Winter Soldier. Bucky had immediately noticed how he had become calmer during Barton's explanation. When the other returned with two new bags, he asked, "Where are Laura and the kids now?"

On the one hand, Bucky was really interested in this topic, but on the other hand, he didn't want to let an opportunity pass where he could listen. He briefly had the feeling that Barton was smiling before he started to tell about Laura moving to town with the kids and her new boyfriend and already having a new baby. He rambled on about his niece and nephews and in no time all the bags were tucked away in cupboards and freezers.

Bucky then looked at the bedrooms. It didn't take him long to decide and he chose one of the three upstairs, with a large window and a view over the field. Barton seemed glad he did, apparently having hoped for the downstairs bedroom, which he now happily moved into.

Bucky, meanwhile, went out on the porch and stared out at the field. Barton had been right, it was actually raining. But he welcomed the rain - the heavy drops on the porch roof made a sound he could focus on. Not as helpful as Barton's chatter, but a start.

As if he had read Bucky's thoughts, Barton appeared in the doorway and wordlessly held out a cup of coffee to him, which he gratefully accepted. The archer was about to turn and go back into the house, but Bucky held him back. "Barton, wait." he said loud enough to be heard over the patter of the rain.

Barton turned and looked at him curiously.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Bucky muttered. "For letting me stay here. And..." He took another breath. "For stopping Steve from coming along. I don't know how you came up with it, but you were definitely right. He wouldn't really help me."

Barton nodded. "Don't thank me for that. Like I said, it goes without saying. You need some time off, and to be honest, so do I, and I have the perfect house for it. So why not?"

He gave him a small smile, but Bucky didn't return it. He didn't know when he had smiled for the last time. Only that it had been a long time ago. And in his current state, he just didn't feel like smiling.

Barton ignored his unreturned gesture and instead took a sip from his own mug before clearing his throat and then saying, "Before there are any misunderstandings or strange questions, I'll tell you now: I'm really giving you all the freedom here, yeah? You can sleep whenever you want, for as long as you want, you can lie around all day, watch TV, read, or whatever, okay? You're free to do anything."

Bucky nodded one more time gratefully. But then he looked around, glanced across the field, toward the barn, and in the direction from which chicken clucking was already sounding again. Finally, he turned back to Barton. "Can I do something useful, too? Help you out here somehow?"

Barton seemed surprised for a moment, but then smiled, still not caring that Bucky didn't return it. "I never say no to free help."

He went silent for a while, looking down at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. At some point he said, as a slight blush crept up his cheeks, "I don't even want to get into that subject right now or anything, after all, it's none of my business anyway. But I can't just forget why you're here, and I just wanted to tell you that if you're having nightmares or something, it's not a big deal if you scream or something. I can't hear you anyway." He tapped one of his hearing aids briefly.

Bucky didn't know what to say at first. How to react to something like that? That had been good information that had really taken a little weight off Bucky's mind. The fact that he would have nightmares was one hundred percent a sure thing, and the fact that he would wake up screaming some of the time wasn't new territory either.

It had actually worried him a little bit that he would wake Barton. He had completely forgotten about the hearing aid part. Practical things.

Still not knowing exactly how to respond, he just mumbled an "Okay Barton."

Barton smiled the third unrequited smile and then turned to go inside for real.

"And please call me Clint." he called over his shoulder. "We're going to be here for a while, so we can save ourselves the formalities."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to write the chapter. Halfway through the translation, the document somehow got lost, so I had to start all over again, and because I really don't like this chapter, it was hard to find motivation.   
> But since I'm definitely happier with the next chapters, hopefully it will go faster from now on ^^

With a groan, Clint rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. He tried desperately to go back to sleep, knowing full well it wouldn't work. He knew his body well enough to know when he was completely awake. And that was the case right now, even though it wasn't even 6 in the morning. The whole thing wouldn't be a problem at all, if Clint were well-rested and fit at this stage. Unfortunately, this phase meant nothing other than a bad mood until he had at least had one cup of coffee.

Clint closed his eyes one last time and tried to focus his thoughts on something that would put him to sleep: Steve's morality lectures, Tony's and Bruce's science presentations, Thor's eternal bragging, mission reports. None of this brought him any closer to sleep - his mood was even worse now.

Groaning, he turned his head to the side so that he could see the window through which morning sunlight was shining. It lit up the room - and Clint sat up, startled. Completely overwhelmed, he looked around the room. This was everything, but not his apartment in the Avengers Tower. He felt panic creeping up inside him and was about to scream. Where the hell was he and what was he doing here? Had he been kidnapped? But why was the bed so comfortable? Were the others just playing a nasty trick on him or was it all just a nightmare? His throat tightened, making it difficult to breathe and holding back a scream. Clint tried desperately to focus his thoughts on anything other than panic, to clear his head enough to think. It didn't take long after that for him to remember.

His heartbeat was already starting to calm down again and Clint's breathing was returning to normal. Because everything was all right.

He was in Waverly.

On his farm.

With Bucky.

No danger.

Sighing, he buried his face in his hands and rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. He hated it that he panicked so easily. It was especially bad in the morning and at night, when his brain was foggy from sleep. Then every little detail could throw him off.

But as much as he hated these little panic attacks, the nightmares were a lot worse. If they only occurred sometimes and could be quickly forgotten, Clint wouldn't have too much of a problem with it. But unfortunately, they tore him from sleep pretty much every night at least once and then often kept him awake for hours. It was pathetic, annoying, and terribly debilitating, but he didn't know how to stop it. How many times Clint had wished he could just push a button and remove all the negative memories from his mind.

But not even Tony and Bruce were able to invent something like that, so Clint had to continue living without a good night's sleep. For three fucking years now. Just to make it clear, he had also had nightmares before. That was something natural, first of all, and even more natural when you were a SHIELD agent.

But three years ago it had gotten a lot worse, and it hadn't improved once since. All because of Loki and his fucking scepter. If that idiot of a god hadn't shown up with a plan to take over the world, Clint could sleep through 13 out of 14 nights right now. But fate had never been kind to him, so it was sort of logical that everything had happened the way it just did and turned the tables on him. The 13 out of 14 nights statistic was still true, just reversed. Although Clint doubted that he really slept through every 14th night. It seemed so much less.

He took his hands off his face and blinked a few times to get rid of the kaleidoscope-like fragments that had appeared from rubbing his eyes. With a yawn, he flipped back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, focused on distracting his thoughts from Loki and his domination of Clint's mind. After all, that was exactly why he was at the farm. To forget the whole thing slowly.

That this would never be completely possible was obvious. But it was a start to put some distance between himself and the Avengers. As much as he appreciated that Nat in particular was still trying to help him after all these years - it didn't help. And Natasha knew that pretty well. Which was why she had agreed to the idea of time off at the farm without resistance. Clint really needed that break. Maybe not as much as Bucky, but at least a little bit.

Bucky.

It was almost selfish to complain about his own problems. He had only been in the grip of someone else for three days - Bucky had no control over his actions for 70 years. Clint had only vague ideas of how he must feel at the moment.

But that was exactly why _Clint_ was here instead of Steve. Those vague ideas were, after all, more than all the other Avengers combined could come up with. Even though he had only had a taste of brainwashing for three days, he had more experience than the rest of the group.

If Bucky felt even slightly the way he had felt then, this was the best solution. If Clint had had a quiet place to relax three years ago, with a person who understood him, things might be different today. He may not have been given such an opportunity, but now he had the chance to offer it to someone else. And in the process, maybe improve his own condition a bit.

Steve and the others probably hadn't given a thought to the fact that Bucky and Clint had experienced similar things. That had probably been the reason for their shocked reaction four days ago. Perhaps by now Nat had let them in on why Clint had come along to the farm - she had figured him out right away, of course.

Clint got up and left the room to finally get his first coffee. He thought about how the Avengers had been reminded of the Loki thing and how Steve had spent hours wondering what Clint was up to with Bucky. Cap would probably be terribly worried that his best friend was getting the cruelest of therapies from Clint Barton himself. He grinned a little. Yes, that was exactly what Steve would think. The most important thing was that he had a reason to distrust and worry about Clint.

Yet Clint had nothing in particular in mind for Bucky at all. He just wanted to make this what it was supposed to be.

A time out.

He would give Bucky his space and yet not leave him alone. He would be available to talk, but only when Bucky needed it. He would treat Bucky as he would have wanted for himself at the time.

As far as Clint knew, Bucky had no idea about the thing with Loki and the scepter. And he wasn't about to jump the gun. They'd see how it went, and if it went south, Clint could dig out that story. He knew it would give Bucky a bit of security, but until that security was absolutely needed, he would keep that advantage in the back of his mind.

Yawning, he dragged himself to the coffee ma and flicked it on. It would be enough for three mugs. Two of them he would most likely drink in the next twenty minutes. Whether the third would also be his or whether Bucky would wake up before then and claim the cup for himself was still unsure. Although Clint fairly doubted that Bucky would claim _anything_ for himself. More likely, it would take minutes of persuasion to convince him that he could have the coffee.

As it slowly dripped into the pot, Clint looked around the room a bit. He had been here yesterday, but hadn't spent any time taking in the atmosphere of the place. Now, standing here in the kitchen early in the morning, he almost felt transported back to his childhood. He didn't have too many memories of that time, after all he had moved away when he was six, but it did make him think back a little.

Much more present, however, were the memories of the time when he had lived here with Laura. When he looked into the living room, he saw Cooper in his head, how he jumped from the sofa onto the armchairs and then onto Clint's shoulders, just to avoid stepping into the "lava" on the floor. He saw Lila take her first steps and be instantly knocked down again by her brother. He saw Laura sitting on the sofa with the two of them, reading one book after another. Of course, he also had the unpleasant images in his mind, of the countless nights when his sister couldn't sleep from grief because their children had been taken away from their father. The countless nights when Clint's arms had been the only thing holding her up.

He turned to the coffee maker and so turned his back on the living room. He didn't want to think about that time any further. All that was forgotten, Laura was living in the city with the kids and her new boyfriend. She was doing well. She was happy.

And yet Clint couldn't help but long for at least a little of the happy children's laughter back at the farm - even if it didn't fit into the plan of rest and relaxation at all.

Sighing impatiently, he tapped his fingers in an irregular rhythm on the counter next to the coffee machine. This damn thing had to hurry up. After all, Clint had already thought far too much for an early morning without caffeine. But the coffee was only halfway through, so he would have to be patient.

Clint already started making a mental list of things that needed to get done. That the chickens and the two cows needed to be fed and the fruits and vegetables watered was obvious (even if watering wasn't too important given yesterday's rain). But Clint wanted to take the opportunity to change some things about the farm that he had been planning for several years.

At top of the list was repairing the barn roof. It had been leaking in one spot for some time now, but Clint knew that neither Dave nor Laura would ever have hired anyone but him to do it - no matter how much the unusable hayloft bothered them. But Clint had always taken on such tasks and would continue to do so. He would even go so far as to say that he really enjoyed it.

The other thing that was needed was a new fence for the porch. The old one was rotten and the paint was slowly peeling. No people ever passed by here that could draw any conclusions from that, but it still bothered Clint.

The fence by the cow pasture could also use a little makeover. Shirley and Frederick, as the two cows had been fondly named by Cooper and Lila, were relatively peaceful and wouldn't run into the fence at full speed, but Clint wanted to be on the safe side.

He glanced out the window above the sink and let his eyes wander over the barn and the yard while he sorted the tasks in his head according to importance. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he was so late in noticing movement next to him that he flinched in shock and jumped a foot to the side.

Bucky was standing in the kitchen with his hand raised, staring at him. The hand gesture had been what had caught Clint's attention, as he hadn't expected company and therefore movement in his field of vision.

"Don't scare me like that." he brought out with a slight grin and placed a hand on his pounding heart. Probably his voice had been much too loud, because Bucky flinched barely noticeably. Clint mentally slapped a hand to his forehead. He was such an idiot! He actually wondered why he hadn't noticed Bucky earlier, but completely forgot that he wasn't wearing his hearing aids.

That also explained why the words had come out of his mouth too loud. Normally Clint could judge how loud he had to speak without his aids to make it comfortable for the person he was talking to, but when his traitorous brain forgot that he was deaf, it was no surprise when he practically screamed at the person he was talking to.

Bucky said something, but he turned his head towards the window and seemed to mumble rather than speak properly, so Clint couldn't read anything from his lips apart from an "excuse me".

"Sorry." he said, very careful to keep the volume of his voice down now. "Hold that thought, I'll go get my aids." He glanced at the coffee machine, which finished its work in that moment, and added. "And have some coffee!"

Clint hurried back to his bedroom and grabbed his hearing aids from the nightstand. He briefly played with the idea of just dropping back on the bed and screaming into a pillow. Just let out the anger at himself for a few seconds. Why had he just forgotten his aids? Sure, he wasn't used to putting them in right after getting up in the morning, but considering the situation, you'd think his brain would be able to think of those fuckers.

Now he had already made Bucky uncomfortable after only half a day on the farm. He knew now why Clint hadn't reacted immediately and had been startled afterwards, but the slight shock had still been written all over his face. With other people, Clint wouldn't have worried about it. He had startled someone a little because he had startled himself and had spoken a little too loudly after it. Actually, there was nothing wrong with that. But with Bucky, it was different.

Of course it was different.

After all, such small things were exactly the things that could upset one. At least, that's how it was with him. He had no idea what it was like for Bucky, of course, but just the fact that he had to play with that thought on the very first day was too much. To make things worse, Bucky really hadn't looked good. Not in the sense of attractiveness - Clint hadn't paid attention to that in other people for a long time - but rather in terms of his overall appearance. Bucky always looked quite beat up, which was no surprise at all. Clint didn't really want to think about the amount of nightmares Bucky was having. However, he had just looked even worse than usual. Probably it was just the time of day, after all Clint had never seen Bucky so early in the morning (he usually slept much too long for that).

It was pretty obvious that he hadn't been in the best shape right now, and what did Clint do? Scared him. Well, actually Bucky had scared him first, but it was all based on Clint's stupidity.

These thoughts just flashed through his mind as he sighed and put his aids in place, trying to resist the urge to throw himself into bed in frustration. Clint turned on the aids on both sides and, as he did every time, was briefly overwhelmed by the sounds flooding in. He'd been walking around for three years now with the Tony-designed hearing aids that let him hear almost normally, and yet he was impressed each time by their effect.

He heard the chirping of a bird from the slightly open window, accompanied by the steady drip of water droplets that had pooled on the roof during yesterday's rain shower and were now falling onto the porch. Clint heard the rustling of leaves from the nearby woods and the creaking of the wooden floor as he turned and walked back into the living room.

Bucky was standing in front of an open kitchen cupboard and appeared to be looking for something. Since the coffee pot, which was full, was still untouched, Clint guessed he was looking for the mugs.

"Up there on the left!" he said, pointing to the correct cupboard as he walked. Bucky nodded blankly, followed Clint's explanation, and pulled _one_ mug out of the right cabinet. No second for Clint, no question if he wanted coffee too, not even a questioning look in his direction. Bucky had taken only that one mug and filled only it.

And Clint couldn't blame him.

Even from the first moment he couldn't, but when he saw the slight tremor in Bucky's hands, he could even less. The guy definitely had other things to worry about than whether Clint wanted coffee, too. That little things like that - things that were supposed to be taken for granted - could quickly be forgotten was something Clint knew all too well. When he had occasionally visited Laura after the incident with Loki, something similar had happened to him far too often. The realization that something had been done - or not done - often came much later.

So Clint, for his part, reached into the cupboard to pull out a cup and fill it. As soon as the longed-for coffee was poured, he brought his mug to his lips and took a big gulp. It was so early in the morning and Clint had already thought about so much that he hardly cared about the fact that he was burning his mouth.

He looked at Bucky from the side, who was staring blankly out - his coffee still untouched. Clint remembered that Bucky had said something before he had gone to get his hearing aids. But Bucky didn't look like he was particularly eager to continue the conversation (if you could call it that). Or rather to repeat it, after all Clint hadn't understood anything.

Clint put his mug on the counter and bent down to get the toaster from one of the cabinets. If he was up this early, he might as well eat something.

"You wanna eat, too?" he asked as casually as he could.

He saw Bucky flinch, barely noticeable, before the muscles on his back tightened. It seemed he had forgotten he wasn't alone in the room. As if to get rid of the thoughts he had just been caught up in, he shook his head. He turned away from the window and looked at Clint, who was very focused on putting the plug into the socket.

"Huh?" muttered Bucky. Clint didn't know if he really hadn't heard him or if it was the only response he could bring out at the moment.

"Breakfast." declared Clint, pointing to the toaster. "You want some?"

Bucky's face remained expressionless as he said, "No. No thanks."

He spoke very softly and even at that his voice sounded rough. Clint knew exactly why. And carrying that knowledge was worse than he had imagined.The thought of how Bucky had screamed in the night, caught in nightmares, while Clint had slept peacefully (at least most of the time), made him feel guilty. It was completely unjustified, he was aware of that too, after all there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it, but some feelings just couldn't be turned off.

"Okay.", he returned, smiling briefly at Bucky. Like the day before, the smile wasn't returned, but Clint wasn't bothered by it. When had he felt like smiling back then? Never, actually. But he remembered all too well that sometimes a grin from Nat had been enough to make the world a little bit better. To be honest, it still was. And because he just kept assuming that Bucky felt the same way he did, he would continue to give out smiles.

Bucky nodded, then reached for his mug and walked to the door on the side of the room that led to the large section of the porch. Unlike yesterday, he didn't seem to be in a talking mood. Okay, you couldn't call his behavior yesterday 'in a talking mood' either. More like 'Clint's talking and I'm listening mood'. Anyway, he didn't seem to need any babbling from Clint today. So he put two pieces of toast in the toaster for himself and let Bucky drink his coffee on the porch.

After five toasts and another cup of coffee, Clint decided to start working. First the daily tasks: feeding the animals and watering the plants (if they still needed water). Then he would start repairing the barn roof, since he would like to have the hayloft available in the near future after all. The materials - as far as Clint knew - should still be available somewhere on the farm, since it wasn't all that long ago that there had been a similar problem on another part of the roof.

He put his mug and plate in the dishwasher and headed for the bedroom to put on something decent. After a moment's consideration, he decided on a pair of dark blue, loose-fitting jeans and a black sweater, and stepped outside onto the porch as well. Bucky, who hadn't moved the entire time and had just been staring at the field, slowly turned to Clint when he heard him coming.

"Wanna help me?" asked Clint kindly, careful to put as little intrusiveness into his words as possible. "The animals need feeding and the vegetables need watering. Some of it, at least."

Bucky seemed to let the words sink in for a long time. He looked Clint up and down, then looked around one more time with a little uncertainty in his gaze, and finally scratched the back of his head with his metal hand. He seemed undecided. At least, that's what Clint saw in his eyes as Bucky eyed him one more time.

"I won't talk any more than I have to," Clint assured him. Bucky raised his eyebrows barely noticeably, then nodded in agreement. So he really wasn't in the mood to talk today.

"Okay." he muttered. His voice was already a little stronger than it had been before the coffee. "Then tell me what to do and I'll do my best."

Clint gave him another unreturned grin and rubbed his hands together in a burst of motivation. He had to admit that the thought of the farm work ahead really made him quite happy. It would be good to finally switch off for a bit and do something meaningful that had nothing to do with SHIELD or the Avengers.

"I'd put on some real clothes if I were you, though," he said over his shoulder, already heading for the stairs leading off the porch. "Unless you don't mind smelling like fertilizer and cow shit when you sleep."

**Author's Note:**

> Oh and btw: I basically can't stand Steve. That's why he's a bit of an asshole here at the beginning.... I had to release my anger somewhere. But it's definitely getting better. In the very distant future.


End file.
